


Seeing the Show

by LadyDoe



Category: Real Person Fiction
Genre: F/M, Huli, Smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-11-04
Updated: 2013-12-14
Packaged: 2017-12-31 11:09:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 14,414
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1030994
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyDoe/pseuds/LadyDoe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lisa reminisces about the past while secretly going to see Hugh in concert. Multiple chapters.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The present moment is bold. Memories/the past are plain text. 
> 
> This is a multiple chapter story that will feature explicit content (sometimes heavily in future chapters).
> 
> This story is entirely fictional and has been written for entertainment purposes only.

 

 

**# # # PRESENT DAY # # #**

**This is a love story. As many of you have learned, not all love stories end with ‘happily ever after’. This one didn’t, or rather, it hasn’t. In truth, I don’t know the ending of this story. I thought I knew the ending, I thought the ending of the story occurred over two years ago. As I’m sitting here, I realize that the story might not be over yet.**

**For those who are quick to judge or who feel rigidly devoted to certain traditional moralities, this story is one you probably won’t enjoy. This story is not about sainted or innocent people. It’s about humans who are flawed, hurt and lonely. This story is about a love that existed against insurmountable odds. It’s about a love that continued to burn no matter how we tried to put it out. It is, surprisingly to some, about passion. We did things some would consider wrong. We fought and made up, made plans and broke them, hoped for a future and watched it explode before our eyes. We tried time and again to stop ourselves from being in love—for all of our successes, we failed miserably at that.**

**He is not a horrible man. He’s complicated, often depressed, unnecessarily self-critical and often self-loathing. He’s married, yes. It was that way the entire time we knew each other. He never lied to me about this, and I never pretended not to know. I am not a horrible woman. It’s still frustrating to be painted that way, but I didn’t enter into our relationship lightly.**

**We’ve hurt each other incalculable times in incalculable ways. We’ve also been there for each other, wiping tears, whispering support, acting like die-hard fans of each other. There was friendship. There was lust. There was anger. There was longing. Most of all, there was love. I’m not guessing or inferring that he loved me, I know it. He told me as much more times than I can count, and he showed me how he felt even more times than that. And, yes, it’s true, at one time, I loved him back.  I’m not really willing to admit this to others, but in my heart, I know part of me will always love him. At times I’ve hated him, too.**

**Don’t misunderstand, I’m not sitting in a dimly-lit room, curled up in bed, lamenting my loss. I’ve moved on with my life. I’ve found some professional success and I have found love again. I’ve found  a wonderful man; a man who is willing to make a life with me. I’ll be married soon, and I’ll officially (and happily) be a step-mother. It’s important to me, for some reason, for people know that I’ve moved on.**

**He has too, moved on I mean. Ties have been broken, contact severed. It is, and has been, over.**

**After years of that complicated courtship dance we performed, there was one final betrayal that I couldn’t accept. I’d decided I would cut him out of my life forever. I’m sure in his eyes, he considered my behavior a betrayal too. I left him and our work without a personal goodbye. I think we both felt wronged by the other.**

**As hard as it was, I did cut him out, entirely, for years. I avoided all mentions of him by name, I ignored his career, I evaded gossip and I actively stopped people who tried to discuss him with me.**

**And yet---here I am, watching him as he sings on stage.**

**I finally reached the point where I could go days or weeks without him popping up in my mind, and then I received a phone call. A good friend (the one who called me) is seated next to me at his show, her leg bouncing and twitching as she watches him. And she’s watching me, too. I don’t know what she hopes to see, maybe some proof that I loved him, or never loved him, or that I still love him. When she told me she had two tickets to see him and his band, I quickly disregarded the very idea. I was angry that she mentioned it. And then it seemed there were reminders of him everywhere I went.**

**A few days before the show, I decided there was no harm in going. I was curious.**

**I’m invisible to those around me. I’ve always found it funny that people are so certain we can never go anywhere undetected.  We can, and we do. We have costume designers and makeup artists everywhere around us. They’re our friends, coworkers, colleagues. Of course I wasn’t dumb enough to appear at his show undisguised. I don’t want him to know that I’m here. Even if I did hate him, I wouldn’t create such a spectacle at a moment that is supposed to be his.**

**I’m wearing a blond wig, shoulder-length, with conservative looking glasses and a subtle but effective makeup job that has changed the look of my face enough. I’m wearing a frumpy sweater, and horrible shapeless jeans with sweats underneath that make me look a little bulkier than I am. The funniest touch, perhaps, would be the flat canvas tennis shoes that I’m wearing. I’d never wear these shoes for a night out under any other circumstance. We entered with the crowd, my friend and I, both dressed plainly so as to not call attention to ourselves.**

**We take our seats just as inconspicuously, third row back and slightly off-center toward stage right. I haven’t seen him in years, literally. It’s strange to be here. I have to admit, I’ve never cared for the look of him clean-shaven. It’s ironic, perhaps, that he is still not himself, even on stage. In fact, he’s more of a character here than he ever was as House. Few people have ever really seen him. I did, on occasion.**

**He’s just begun his performance, nine minutes late. I swear his eyes linger over me a few seconds too long, but I don’t think he knows it’s me. I wonder if he can even see the faces of the audience in the third row at all. At one time, I knew him better than I had ever known anyone else. It’s almost easy to forget it’s him, but I see the way the bright lights display his forearms and hands. I’ve always loved those parts of his body.  Those parts haven’t changed.**

**The plan is (and has been consistently since I first entertained the thought of coming here) that I will come and go unnoticed. I’m a silent observer, a curious onlooker, and, perhaps, even a voyeur. When his feet move across my line of sight, it breaks my concentration, and I suddenly wonder what he would do if I made myself known.**

**I shove the thought from my head as much as I’m able, but I find I can’t purge its existence entirely. I watch his face while he moves to his piano, and it suddenly occurs to me that he looked sort of like this when we met. He’s older, obviously, by about ten years, but his awkward lankiness and smooth face take me right back to those early moments.**

### 2 0 0 4-2 0 0 5-The First Season ###

It wasn’t love at first sight (I don’t really believe in that anyway). But he was adorable in a shy way. I flirted. It’s just how I am, my personality. I’ll admit it, I liked the flustered way he responded. I couldn’t figure out how in the hell the polite, nervous Brit was going to turn into this character I’d seen in the script. When we read together, everything seemed to fall into place.

An hour later, we found ourselves alone at a table. It wasn’t intentional at all, but people were meeting and being introduced and making plans, and at one point, it was just us. He had his hands folded, fingers interlaced while he drummed them. The only time he unfolded them was to take a drink, but he took plenty of drinks. I looked around the crowd, trying to get a feeling about the people I would be working with (hopefully for at least a few months).

At the same time, I said, “So…” as he said, “You married?”

I smiled at him and shook my head, “Hell no.”

“Hell no? You’re not fond of marriage, or recently divorced and sort of put off by the whole thing?”

“Never married. I’m not against the institution per se, I’m not really interested in that for myself at this time. I think it works for some people. Obviously for you.”

“You think I’m married?”

I stared at his gorgeous eyes, at their piecing quality that I couldn’t ignore, and then reached out, slid my hand over his and tapped his ring.

He flinched just a bit at my very casual touch and he said, “Right, that, of course.”

“Sorry.”

“For what?”

“I think I made you uncomfortable just now.”

“No, no, not at all,” he insisted. “I was just in thought and you startled me.” He reached out and delicately took my hand to shake it. “See, I’m not uncomfortable at all.”

The rough callouses of his fingers brushed against my skin before he withdrew his hand and wrapped it around his glass. “You’re a musician?” I asked with a grin.

“Why would you ask that?”

“Your callouses. I doubt you’ve done much work in a factory or really manual labor of any kind. I guess you’re a musician. Am I right? Could be a sculptor or an artist, but my money’s on music.”

“I sculpt nudes. Want to pose for me?” he asked with a goofy, disingenuous expression.

“Sure,” I answered.

He coughed out his drink awkwardly, obviously surprised.

“Was that almost a spit-take?” I giggled.

“Are you always this much of a surprise, Lisa?”

“Sweetie, I’m actually on good behavior. Might as well get used to it.”

“Would you really do that? I mean not for me, I’m not really asking, but, in general. Would you pose, completely naked, for someone you just met?”

“For an artist? Sure. Why not?”

“What if he’s not really an artist? What if he’s just a man trying to take advantage of you?”

“Well, I’m a good judge of character. You blushed when you asked, so I figured it was a joke. I’m pretty sure you aren’t that kind of guy, even if you weren’t married.”

“So I’m a noble sculptor?”

“You’re not a sculptor at all. I still think you’re a musician.”

“Well, you’re right.”

“What do you play?”

“Piano, organ, a little guitar.  I’d love to play absolutely everything.”

“So why don’t you?”

“Haven’t had the time to learn. Life, kids, work. Keeps a man busy. That’s good though, having work, isn’t it? The option of being out of work doesn’t seem like a better alternative.”

The next time we met was on set. A member of the crew told me about how Hugh’s infidelity was documented in the tabloids. Mike had seen Hugh and me talking, and said he was only trying to protect me and my reputation. The young and undeniably handsome crew member’s warning seemed petty and jealous rather than protective.

I didn’t realize Hugh was behind me when I warned Mike that I had no interest in gossip or tabloids and that I refused to associate with anyone who spread rumors like those.  Once Mike was gone, I saw my new friend behind me.

“What did he do?” Hugh asked curiously with a very obvious American accent and a voice almost a full octave lower than when we’d spoken before.

“Nothing. He’s just rude.”

“Did he harass you? Are you alright?”

“You sound so different.”

“Different good or different bad?”

“Just different.”

“If I say anything wrong, I’m not talking about just the accent, but word choice, syntax, whatever, if I say anything that makes me sound un-American let me know. Do I sound legit? Kind of?”

“Definitely. I miss the accent, but really like the deeper voice.”

“You’re trying to change the subject from whatever happened with that rather forlorn looking man in the corner.”

“You’re trying to ignore my compliment about your voice. And you need to avoid saying things like ‘rather forlorn’ if you want to sound like an American.”

“Noted. Now what happened with that guy over there?”

“Apparently he reads tabloids. I don’t care if people want to read them, but don’t bring that gossip into work.”

“God, seriously? I’m sorry you’re dealing with that rubbish.”

“Americans don’t say ‘rubbish’ in that context.”

“What are they printing about you?”

I smiled, softly, touching his forearm, “It wasn’t about me.”

“Not about you? Then what’s the problem?”

“It was about you.”

“Oh,” he answered, unhappily stunned. “Fuck. Recently?”

“No. Old news. Don’t worry about it.”

“You’ve known me for a few hours out of your life and you’re defending me?” he chuckled.

“I like you. I’ve already decided. And you were worried when you thought he was bothering me. You were just as ready to defend me, so don’t act like it’s weird.”

“Well, ‘course I was. I like you, too. No one will be giving me a bad time with Lisa ‘Brass Knuckles’ Edelstein by my side.”

I laughed at his joke and then he looked around nervously and he said, “Look, about those tabloids.”

Holding up my hand to stop him, I interrupted, “Wait. You don’t have to say anything. You don’t owe me or anyone else here an explanation. That’s your personal life.”

“So you think they’re different? Professional and personal lives?”

“Completely. I don’t feel the need to explain my personal life to anyone. Why should you? I don’t hide but I don’t offer any unnecessary information either.”

“I like your policy.”

“Fantastic.”

“Since you and I are coworkers, does that mean we can only talk about work?” his voice was light and jokey, but the question seemed subtly sincere.

“If we’re coworkers, yes. But if we’re friends, that would be different. But I only take on friends I can trust. Ones who I know won’t run around, spreading gossip about me.”

“I would never do that.”

“I don’t pry, but I hate being lied to once I consider someone a friend. So remember this: if you don’t feel comfortable talking about something with me, fine, don’t talk about it, but I don’t lie. It’s always okay to tell me to mind my own business. Trust me, I don’t have a problem telling you or anyone to mind theirs.”

He nodded. I think he was stunned, but he responded with a smile when I smiled at him.

I broke the tenseness. “Now, will you always sound like this when I see you? No more charming British accent?”

“The plan is that on days when we’re rehearsing or filming, I’ll wake up in this voice and keep it until we’re done for the day. Bad accents are terrible. It will ruin the character if I get it wrong.”

We didn’t really talk much over the next few weeks. We nailed our scenes, all of them, within the first or second take.  People loved our chemistry. The thing is, I thought that Jennifer was supposed to be his love interest. I never really suspected that my character would become anything like that, so I was stunned when a few people started mentioning the chemistry between us.

There were rumors about an affair between him and a crew member, and even rumors about him and prostitutes. I hadn’t seen evidence of either. Some people actually seemed to be awkward around him after one round of rumors. I heard the things that were being said, we all did, but I didn’t care. He would make jokes about how I defended him since the beginning, but I could tell that he liked that in me. We started having dinners, both on and off set, and spending occasional free moments together.

He would have fits of depression, sometimes deep, that would pop up the entire time that I knew him. At first when I’d notice them, I’d do something little to cheer him up. We didn’t really talk much about personal things, but I assumed he’d taken my statement that I really wanted things to be discussed honestly if they were going to be discussed at all to heart.

Near the end of the first season, I found out how close I was to being let go from the show. It shook my confidence a great deal and problems with the boyfriend I had at the time certainly didn’t help.

It was the final day of filming, and that night we were having a season wrap party. He sauntered over to me, twirling his character’s cane in the air and flopped down next to me on the sofa on the set of his apartment.  “Going home,” he sighed while he laid his head back on the sofa.

“You’re skipping the party?”

“After the party.”

“Need a ride?”

“Do you own an ocean liner or an airplane?”

“Oh. You mean home-home. London?”

“Yea.”

“You must be so excited.”

He took a long slow breath in and said, “Sure. I mean I am. Of course I am.”

That night at the party, he’d already had a lot to drink before some people even arrived. He handed me a drink, which I declined. “I’ll miss you,” he said, almost absently.

“You will? You barely know me.”

“Why is that?”

“I don’t work that much and we both sort of have our own lives.”

“We should hang out more.”

“Sure, next year.” I giggled, “I think you’re drunk.”

“I am most certainly not. So what will I do until we’re back if I need to talk to you? Is there a special signal? Like something I can shine into the skies so you know I need you?”

“Are you asking for my phone number?”

“I was thinking more like a sky signal, but…phones, hmmm. What a novel idea! That could work.”

“And your wife doesn’t mind women calling?”

“Eh.”

“We could email.”

“We could. Give me your number though, just in case.”

“Alright.”

“Are you silently judging me?”

“I am not. As long as you’re honest with me, I try not to judge.”

“I think I really do like you.”

“I still think you’re drunk.”

Jesse came up behind me, wrapping his arms around me and spinning me. He picked me up and sat in my chair with me on his lap. That wasn’t uncommon, we were both flirty and playful people. He put a wet, intoxicated kiss on my cheek and said, “I heard that next year, Chase and Cuddy are going to have a sizzling affair.”

“What?” Hugh turned quickly to face the suggestion.

“He’s kidding,” I explained.

“Maybe I am, and maybe I’m not,” Jesse teased.

I patted his face with my hand, “I think someone over there likes you,” before I tilted his head toward Jen.

“It’s you, isn’t it?”

“I would break you. You deserve a nice girl, a sweet girl. I’m not a nice girl.”

“I wouldn’t mind being broken by you a few times.”

We were always friends like that, flirty, casual and fun. I loved hanging out with him because of that, still do. And he was simply gorgeous, and probably has become more handsome as he’s aged.

Jen joined us, smiling and chatting for a few minutes before she and Jesse disappeared into the crowd.

“Think you would break me, too?” Hugh asked.

“I try to avoid breaking married men,” I smiled and leaned an arm against him.

He picked up his American accent and lowered his voice, and in a second, his face seemed to change while he became his character, “But I’m not married.”

It was as if he instantly became House.

I smiled, “House is very sexy. If he were real, I’d chase that in a heartbeat. But I’m not sure if he’d like me.”

“He’d prefer you over Cuddy. You’re less uptight, more fun, less inhibited. Sexier.”

“I’m sexier?!? Did you really just say that? You ARE drunk.”

“I’m not drunk. You’re infinitely more enticing.”

“Okay, stud, I’m cutting you off for a while,” I said while I took his drink and pulled him over to where our group was gathering.

We joined the others and the intimate portion of our conversation was over for the moment.  I had taken the whole thing with the same seriousness that I would have taken Jesse or anyone else in that room, we were just joking. I was convinced of that until the end of the evening. Everyone gathered in one corner of the room. It was like a celebration for cast and crew. Hugh stood near the back and I stood in front of him. The day was long and I leaned my head back against his shoulder.

People were talking, I wasn’t really listening, I was tired and my feet hurt and I was ready for my bed. He  relaxed enough to put an arm around me, a fact that made me happy. I wanted to be as free and affectionate with him as I was with the others. I was listening to the voices spouting positive things about the show and then something happened that made me forget everything else around me.

His hand wrapped around my side and pulled me back. At first, I felt his hip and leg against me. He was a little drunk, a little friendlier, but I convinced myself that nothing untoward was happening. Someone in front of me stepped back when people started to clap so I was momentarily pushed completely against Hugh. At that moment I realized that he was becoming aroused, and I froze, completely stunned.

I stayed against him, uncertain of what to do or how to react. The crowd would shift and move, and nearly everyone in the group had been drinking, and we were all pressed so tightly together that what was going on between us was completely hidden. His hand remained on my hip, one of his fingers poking under my shirt to touch the bare skin on my side.

I found that, although I was beyond stunned, there was something very enticing about that moment. It had been a while since I’d seen my boyfriend and the spontaneity of what was going on made my head swim as if I had been drinking right along with the rest of them. We were so close together that I felt him hold his breath when I’d inhale. I couldn’t help it, his reaction was turning me on.

He leaned down toward my ear, at this point, I had completely lost my connection with our surroundings and he whispered, “I really will miss you during the break.”

When I looked over my shoulder at him, I realized that I absolutely had to stop this from going any further. “I’ll miss you, too,” I whispered back, and feeling his pelvis push slightly against my ass until I quickly added, “but you know we can’t do this.”

“Why not?”

Everyone started to clap at whatever the speaker had said, and soon we were clapping too. The second the event was over, I separated from him and pushed my way out through the sluggish crowd. I needed to get away and clear my head. I was suddenly very glad we were having a summer hiatus.

I was arguing with myself the entire way to my trailer, so astounded by what had happened. I truly had no idea that he was in any way attracted to me, and I had no idea what to do about it now that I knew. I told myself repeatedly that it was just the alcohol and the emotions from an uncertain year. I also wondered if he would even remember his sloppy advance or if he was too drunk.

I was about to leave when I saw him stumble into his trailer. I wasn’t sure how he left the room in the state I had left him in, I was too concerned with getting away to be worried about what he would do, but on the chance that he’d remember, I didn’t want things to be awkward when we returned in a few weeks.

I knocked on his door and heard him shout, “Open.”

He was lying on the little sofa inside.

“What time does your flight leave?” I asked.

“Few hours. Tomorrow. I dunno. Soon.”

His arm was over his eyes and he looked horribly embarrassed, from what I could see. I sat on the edge of the sofa next to him and when he felt me near, he removed his arm from his face. Immediately his hand went to my hip and his other hand took my face and he sat up toward me like he was going to kiss me.  “We can’t,” I interjected quickly while I put my finger against his mouth.

His hand surrounded my wrist, holding me against his body while his lips pursed against the pad of my finger.

“I’m not asking you to,” he answered, lustily. “I was stupid to think you’d be attracted to me, maybe you could allow me to do something for you before you go. No strings attached.”

“It isn’t stupid,” I answered, frustrated by the lack of self-confidence, “You’re a very attractive man.”

“I thought we agreed to be honest.”

“I am. I wouldn’t lie to you.”

“Then you wouldn’t mind?”

“In a few hours you are going home to your wife. You’ll spend those weeks feeling guilty and when you get back here, you’ll hate me. You’re my friend and this will ruin it.”

“No it won’t.”

“It will. I’ll be a drunken regret that you have to work with. I don’t want that between us.”

“I think about you when I’m not drinking, but I usually lack the courage to express that to you.”

“I care about you too much.”

“I care about you.”

“Well, that’s another reason why we can’t have casual sex. We like each other too much for it to be casual.”

“That’s fine. No sex. Let me please you.”

“Huh?” I asked.

He had stunned me before but now I was dizzy. He wrapped his lips around my finger and sucked the tip gently, swirling it with his tongue. It seemed so real that I could feel it (even though I was still fully clothed). I could already imagine him between my thighs while I rode his face. I could feel heat and wetness spreading while my clit throbbed to life, wanting attention.  I know my mouth opened a little because I could feel the breath on my lips. He was winning an argument without saying a word.

He pushed the bottom of my shirt up an inch, his fingers making contact with my skin. I held them still against me, not pushing him away, or letting him get any further. “It’s alright,” he said in this low soothing voice that could have convinced me to do almost anything in the world. “I promise, no sex. And you don’t have to reciprocate. I wouldn’t allow it, even if you offered.”

“You’ll leave tonight frustrated and unfulfilled. Why would you want to do that?”

“I’m always frustrated and unfulfilled. Give me something to think about, to remember until I come back. I’m wholly unworthy, but---“

“You aren’t unworthy,” I groaned, standing up next to the sofa and making sure my clothing was properly arranged. It was the comment about unworthiness that seemed to bring me to my senses. “Why would you say something like that?”

He was deflated, his shoulders and back slumped. His fingers were rubbing on his forehead with uncomfortable worry and if one word could sum it up best, he seemed humiliated. I sat back down next to him, grabbed his hand and held it between my hands in my lap.

“I have a boyfriend,” I rationally stated.

“I realize that.”

“You have your own --circumstances.”

“I also realize that.”

“But that’s not why I don’t think we should do this.”

“Then why?”

“I don’t want to be a drunken miscalculation that you won’t even remember. Emotions are high, things feel uncertain and a lot of alcohol has been ingested. If I let something happen between us, next year, when we come back to work, things will be awkward. And face it, my boyfriend is far away, and you are half a world away from home, so we need to be able to lean on each other. And, honestly, I’m kind of in shock right now. I had no idea you were attracted to me, which makes me wonder how much of it is you and how much of it is the drink and emotions and a last minute impulse.”

He seemed less mortified, but still a unsteady. His eyes darted in the general direction of my face and he said, “It’s not.”

“It’s not what?”

“The drink or a last minute impulse.”

“If that’s true, then who knows what the future holds. But right now—this is too dangerous.”

He smiled with a certain sweet sadness and then said, “Giving a man false hope is cruel.”

“This took me by surprise. And men rarely do. I’m not sure exactly what to do about this right now, but it isn’t false hope. We just can’t continue under these circumstances. Okay?”

“Sure.”

“I need to go. Maybe you’ll feel better after you have some time at home, but you have my number and my email.”

“Am I still permitted to use them?”

“Absolutely,” I answered, going to the door, joking, “actually, I’ll be furious if you don’t.”

He smiled and tried to look in my eyes.

“We’re fine. You and I are good, like nothing ever happened,” I told him. After walking back to the sofa, I grabbed his hand and pulled him to his feet.  “Give me a hug.”

I reached around his neck and felt his arms slither around my torso and then pull tight while he leaned his head on my shoulder. He sighed faintly, like he was comfortable and relieved. When we parted, he had a look of melancholy. At that point, we could have acted as if nothing had ever happened. But then I kissed his cheek, and he kissed mine. I pulled his face lower, holding him still between my hands, and I kissed his lips. It was soft and tender, but far from meaningless or innocent. I stayed there too long, and he opened his lips around my upper one. I felt the quickening pace of my heart and the too eager way I began to respond to his kiss until we heard another trailer door slap closed and I quickly pulled away. “I’ll talk to you soon,” I said before I left.

He called me the next day while on a layover at an airport back east, joking in that normal, humble way that he did and making me laugh almost instantly. I knew he was calling to see if we were alright. I could actually hear the worry gradually fading in his voice while we spoke. “See you in a few weeks,” he said as he signed off.

We spoke a couple of times during our hiatus, by email or phone. The conversations ranged from two minutes to nearly two hours, but there was never a mention of sex or romance apart from rare, fleeting jokes. By the time he was scheduled to return to Los Angeles, we were closer than we had been before.  I was anticipating his return, reminding myself regularly that this was a friendship and nothing more. I never mentioned that I thought about the proposition he made in his trailer often. I couldn’t help but imagine him doing exactly what he had suggested doing, though I vowed to file those thoughts as ‘fantasy-only’ for the foreseeable future.

 

 

 

**# # # PRESENT DAY # # #**

**The thought of that night in the trailer still turns me on. God, I wish it didn’t. Loud applause rips me from the memory and I start to clap with the rest of the audience when he finishes a song. I watch him introduce one of his band members. I’m listening to the sound of his voice, but I don’t hear any of the words he is saying. The last time I heard his voice, he was a gruff American. Now he’s a gentle, humble English musician.**

**I summon the pain I had felt at the height of his betrayal to try to keep a separation, but still find myself wondering: what would he do if he knew I was here?**

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The relationship becomes physical.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The present moment is bold. Memories/the past are plain text.
> 
> This is a multiple chapter story that features explicit content.
> 
> This story is entirely fictional and has been written for entertainment purposes only.

**# # # Present Day # # #**

**I watch him on stage with one of his band members. She’s beautiful and talented, with an amazing voice and a stage presence that is undeniable. He dances with her. To me, this exchange is sweet, and so perfectly him. There’s no indecency there, it’s a part of the show, and if anything it seems clear how respectful he is of her. It actually reminds me of the sweet man I had once known him as, back at a time when we would dance. Of course, our casual dance became something more.**

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

### 2 0 0 5 – 2 0 0 6 - The Second Season ###

The first week back it was already obvious that we liked being around each other. We'd grown closer talking on the phone during the break. I worried occasionally that I was going to lose my job. When Sela joined us, I wondered if they’d bring her on permanently, decide that they’d met the requisite number of females on the show, and I’d find my walking papers. I was sort of surprised when I realized they intended on keeping me.

Hugh and I became very close that year. We started talking about things that were much deeper than characterizations or scripts. He became comfortable around the grounds of the show with me, whether in trailers or on sets. They started making rules that limited what personal pictures or video could be taken of us while we were working. Everyone knew that Hugh wanted to know where every camera was. It made sense to me, after issues with tabloids, that he’d want to keep some things private that could be misunderstood if taken out of context.

It was like a separate little world on our set, sort of safe and isolated from the outside world. I would sit on the sofa next to him, my legs draped over his knees while we read, he started to greet me with hugs, and he really started to have fun. We’d joke on set, and he loved to try to make me laugh. He was good at it, making hilarious faces or mouthing words while the camera was at his back. I started to really love coming into work.

Things had been going well during the second season, and many people gained confidence. Hugh seemed less likely to be depressed and started to believe that the show might last, although he still suffered from occasional darker bouts and fits of self-doubt. While we were being interviewed one night, a reporter started discussing our good chemistry and the fact that people wanted to see us together. We laughed about it with her, Hugh passing the question to me while I joked that I would take off my shoes and have sex with him on the spot.

The episodes we were filming were a bit somber in tone, and sometimes Hugh’s moods followed House’s. He seemed to be taking his character’s pain to heart. You could see when he had trouble separating from his character because he would move his body as if he was still House. I found him at the end of the day in his trailer with a drink in his hand.

“What are you doing tonight?” I asked.

“Still waiting for you to take off your shoes.”

“What?”

“That reporter's interesting request.”

“Oh that. Well, obviously I wasn’t thinking clearly, I can have sex in my shoes, it’s the underwear that gets in the way. Of course, if I want to badly enough, that won’t stop me either,” I joked, trying to get a laugh from him.

“What’s going on?”

“Nothing,” I answered.

He lifted a pack of cigarettes, jerking the package upward so that a cigarette would jut out of the opening. He pinched it between his lips and pulled it from the pack, opening the door to his trailer and pointing to the outside.

Sometimes we’d stay late after work, sitting under the LA night sky because he would smoke and I couldn’t stand being crammed into that trailer full of fumes. Some nights we’d run lines, some nights we’d talk about music or even memories from childhood or hopes for the future.

Not many people know just how passionate I am about music, too, so it was often something we enjoyed sharing.  That night we moved onto the cool pavement in front of his trailer and sat side by side. He took out his MP3 player so we could listen to music. We often did that when we weren’t sure what to say or if neither of us felt like talking but still wanted to spend time together. He held out one of the earbuds, I positioned it near my ear and we started to listen.

It was from a playlist I’d received from an old jazz aficionado and I’d given it to Hugh. I didn’t even recognize the first tune but the music was old and scratchy, like you could hear the sounds of the record player needle skating over the grooves of the record. He fell in love with several of the pieces as we listened. It was easy to feel his reaction to the music, sometimes he would become so enraptured that it looked like he was actually playing it. Some of the lot lights clicked out, so I could barely see him even though he was right at my side.

He finished his first smoke and went for another directly after, which wasn’t uncommon after a long day with few breaks. He was so lost in the music that he forgot to even take a drag from the second one.  His fingers were so still that the ash refused to fall, holding the shape of the cigarette long after each section burned. He didn’t bother with it until it burned down to one of his knuckles and the heat singed him. He jerked once it burned his skin and flicked the remaining ash onto the ground next to him, took one final drag and extinguished the small burning cherry that remained behind.

I watched it all, every move set to story by the music we shared. When he realized that I was watching and could see the delicate smile on my lips, he smiled shyly. His next look as he studied what little he could see was concern. “Tell me what’s wrong.”

“Nothing,” I smiled. “Why?”

“Nice work today. You were all smiles, you looked perfectly glamorous, as always, and your read was spot-on.”

“Do you want me frown less glamorously and come to work unprepared?”

“Something’s wrong.”

“Why would you say that?”

“Your eyes are sad.”

“So are yours.”

“My eyes are always this way.”

“No they aren’t.”

“What happened? Tell me.”

“I guess I’m single. It’s alright, things weren’t great, but—I miss him.”

“He broke it off? The man’s a complete imbecile.”

“He’s not. It was mutual. Long distance, busy lives. I guess we wanted different things. Our relationship was a formality lately, it’s not like we saw each other anymore.”

“I’d never give up on you.”

“You’re sweet.”

“Don’t write it off like ‘dear sweet Hugh is trying to make me feel better.’  I’d keep you if it meant only having you one weekend of the year. Honestly.”

“What’s going on with you lately,” I tried to change the subject. “You seem weighted down.”

“Nothing. It’s just difficult to quickly snap out of character when you try to draw on that degree of pain.”

“Is there something I can do?”

“You’re doing it already. Besides, in a few days we’ll start a lighter episode again.”

“Sometimes I think you go too far, feel too much of his pain. You need to keep them separate.”

“He is me. I’m him. In part anyway, he’s a side of me. Sometimes I think it’s good to be that. To feel and express things the way he does. It’s liberating. I’m all uptight and awk-“ he paused and said, “Jesus, you look so sad.”

“I’m okay.”

“Can you guys work something out? Make amends?”

“Why? All of the problems are still there, and neither of us is willing to change anything. It’s time to move on with my life. I’m okay. Change can be hard, but it’s time to embrace it. Besides, you clearly didn’t like him, so you don’t have to pretend you do.”

“Why do you think that?”

“Both times he was around you were weird, you hardly spoke to me and you left as soon as you could.”

“I was polite to him.”

“You were, but superficially. I know you, you didn’t like him.”

“It wasn’t that.”

“Then what was it?”

“I thought—urm—maybe I was trying to protect you. He seemed a little, you know. Creepy.”

“He did not. Maybe you were a little jealous.”

“I can’t be a friend worried for you?”

“Trust me, it’s not like I think you like me or anything, not in a romantic way. I just think that when our significant others are far away, you and I kind of, you know, fill in. We’re stand-ins.”

He stiffened instantly and started to look around, I guess he wanted to act like I hadn’t said what I’d said.

“Are you upset with me?” I asked.

“No. It’s true enough, I suppose.”

He stared at me, coming a little closer to see me better. Our eyes had adjusted to the relative darkness and he said, “Come have a drink with me.”

“Sure.”

“Really?” he wondered with a bit of excitement.

“Drink up.”

“No, I mean, have a drink with me.”

“Oh. I don’t know, I’m not much of a drinker anymore.”

“One night. I won’t tell a soul. Just a one or two, that’s it. Let’s share our loneliness over a few. A good stand-in would do it.”

I didn’t want to admit how relieved I was when he showed up at my place an hour after we left the lot. In all honesty, I’d spent the last few evenings lost in sorrow, and I’m not the type to wallow. He showed up with a bag in his hand, kissing my cheek as he stepped by. He put the bag down on the table and pulled out two bottles. “Whiskey or wine?”

I held up both bottles and examined them, “Might as well go with the whiskey, but I’m not overdoing it. One drink.”

“The intention is relaxation, not intoxication.”

“And now you’re a poet? What is it that you can’t do?”

He didn’t answer for several seconds while he looked at me. “Are you alright? I hate seeing you like this.”

“I’m fine, stop worrying.”

“You constantly cheer me up. I owe you a thousand times over.”

“You don’t owe me.”

We were awkward at first but it didn’t take long before we were talking and sipping whiskey. I’ll admit that it went to my head pretty quickly, but in a pleasantly relaxed way. We were listening to the same playlist that we’d been listening to earlier, and I could see that he was trying to entertain me. He was making me laugh, allowing few lulls in the conversation and being every bit as charming as he could be. When he heard an unfamiliar version of “I’d Rather Go Blind” he grabbed my hand and pulled me to my feet. “Dance with me,” he said.

He swooped me in his arms. We danced through a few songs, some of which were more upbeat. I was having so much fun while I forgot that I was sad. When Irma Thomas started to sing, he pulled me closer again. We were swaying and hardly dancing at all. I leaned my head against his chest, but his finger touched my chin and lifted my face. His eyes were worried, “Are you having fun?”

“Oh yea, completely.  Are you?”

“Great whiskey, spectacular music, and there’s a beautiful woman in my arms. The very definition of a great time in the OED.”

Before I could respond, he twirled me around, spinning me away and back with unexpected ease. I started laughing out loud, caught up in the fun and silliness. When I caught myself and looked at him, I realized how closely he was watching me. His eyes twinkled with happiness but otherwise his face was blank. There was so much tension between us that it was almost unbearable, so I smiled and started to sway again. He moved like he had to order each muscle to act. In order to end the tension, I said, “You’re a really great dancer. Too bad you’re playing someone who can barely walk.”

“I’m not a great dancer. It’s the whiskey.”

“Whiskey makes you a better dancer?”

“Possibly. But I meant it makes you think I am. Besides, I don’t think House has a lot of reasons to dance, even if he could.”

“Maybe Stacy would have given him reasons,” I tried to joke.

“You really are jealous about that? Aren’t you?”

“No!” I yelled, “I’m teasing.”

“So you’re not jealous? Not at all?”

I shook my head no, but replied, “Maybe a tiny little bit. A smidgen.”

“Sorry it made you jealous.”

“I like to think that you’re mine on set, but I don’t own you. I have absolutely no claim over you.”

“I don’t write the scripts you know. I don’t get to choose.”

“It doesn’t matter. Kiss who you want to kiss. It’s none of my business.”

“Whomever I want?”

“I have no right to stop you.”

“If you insist,” he said, closing the space between us before I could stop him.

God, his mouth was warm as I felt the soft, wet inner part of his lip, framed by dryer edges while he covered my upper lip. The lower part of his lip was in my mouth, his tongue moving slowly along until it curled into the warmth of my mouth.  My hands were clenching at his shirt in fists, holding him close with the grip of my fingers but ready to shove him away if I needed to.

I suppose I should have shoved him away. I didn’t. I should have at least wanted to push him away, but I couldn’t really muster that either. I’d felt cold and lonely in recent days, and suddenly I was in a place where I felt like I belonged. And I’d be lying if I said he wasn’t an amazing kisser. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t leave many of our interactions over the last few months wet and wanting. I’d be lying if I said that replaying fantasies of him didn’t accompany many of my lonely evenings.

His hands slipped down over my butt and he covered my cheeks with his hands, not squeezing, only pulling me to him. It was more possessive than indecent. His hands moved up my body to my hips while he stopped the kiss, and he bowed his head, keeping his nose pressed into my hair. I don’t think he could even look at me. I’m sure part of him was mortified by his behavior, frightened of rejection or worse. His voice crackled when he said, “Now you don’t have to be jealous.”

We were swaying again to the music, or at least loosely with it. I don’t remember even hearing the notes to the song. His face stayed against me, and I don’t think he could have found the courage to look me in the eye. My body tingled although I ordered myself not to get wrapped up.

I didn’t move away or tell him about why we shouldn’t be testing the waters. He whispered, “You can trust me. I will never hurt you.”

“I’m not the one who is going to get hurt. I thought we agreed to avoid things like this,” I said gently, trying not to hurt his feelings.

“As well as I remember it, you agreed to pretend I didn’t make a pass at you. I don’t remember any real agreement to avoid anything in the future.”

“True but-“

“And then you kissed me after telling me we shouldn’t get involved and that we were going to act as if nothing had ever happened.”

“That was probably not the best move on my part. It was a spur of the moment reaction and I –“

“I liked your spur of the moment reaction. You can’t pretend not to feel this.”

“Look, me, personally, I’m fine with casual sex. I don’t know if you are though. But even if it isn’t a problem for either of us, you don’t mix casual sex and people you care about and work with almost every day. We’re really close. I think there could be feelings involved, which makes things complicated, and I honestly don’t want to hurt you and I would be heartbroken if I lost your friendship.”

“You won’t lose me. Neither of us are that naïve. We both know what this is—and what it isn’t. You and I share trust, friendship, attraction. I mean I think we do. Do we?”

“Yes, definitely.”

“We’re both alone here. Why not find comfort in someone you trust?”

“I’m not anyone’s mistress.”

“I’m not asking you to be. This is a different world for me, an entirely different life. If I don’t look at it that way, I’ll go mad. Just consider it. The offer still stands.”

“Offer?”

“The same one I made in my trailer almost a year ago. You could let me touch you, please you. I don’t require anything in return.”

“What are you going to do?” I asked disbelievingly. “Are you going to go down on me and go home? Is that really what you want to get from this?”

“You could let me stay the night. I want to be with you, touch you. I don’t feel like being alone and you’re the one I want to be with. I’ll take whatever you’re willing to offer.”

“You can’t even look me in the eye.”

He stood upright so I could see him. He seemed worried and tense, prepared for rejection and humiliated already. “There.”

“If it’s just casual, then why do you seem so concerned?”

“I’m propositioning the most beautiful woman I know. I want you, I have wanted you. But you could leave here and make me a laughing stock. You could go to the press or our coworkers and network. Or worse you could cut off our friendship. I’m making a fool of myself, it’s not something I particularly enjoy doing.”

“So why do it?”

He stared right at me as an answer, directly engaging my eyes until I leaned my cheek back against his chest so we could dance and I’d have time to think. I was holding him affectionately, I didn’t want him to feel rejected and really I couldn’t stop thinking about his tempting mouth all over every inch of my body. Our dancing was becoming more sensual even though it seemed there was more space between us.  The attraction was like a magnet with a pull that never relaxed, it kept pulling. I knew the only way to get free was to push away hard and fast and keep a distance, but I lacked the desire to follow through with what I knew I should do. I was thinking about everything so he startled me when he said, “You’re thinking about it, aren’t you?”

Lifting my head from his chest, I tried to be cool, “About what?”

“About me making love to you.”

“Love is a dangerous word. We cannot fall in love.”

“I agree.”

“If something happens, we can’t tell anyone.”

“I definitely agree.”

“This can’t be a habit.”

“If that’s how you feel.”

“This is casual? No strings?”

“Yes Lisa. Now answer my question. Are you thinking about it?”

“Of course I am.”

“Me too.” He stepped us back steadily and precisely toward the wall, watching my face when he answered, “Every day for months.”

Grasping my butt, he lifted me and I could feel his partially engorged cock between us, trapped behind his pants. My legs instantly wrapped around his slim waist like they were pulled by the strings of a puppeteer.  I felt the warmth of yearning throughout my entire body, like current was passing between us. He dotted kisses along my collarbone to my neck, his rough beard scratching my skin and contrasting the tenderness of his mouth. His hands were massaging my ass, pulling me tight to him while he rubbed our bodies together. He was subtly thrusting against me, his hips moving in pulses that I don’t think he could control, I’m not even sure if he knew he was doing it. I was pulsing my hips up to meet him, my hands grabbing on the back of his head.

He often seemed so uncertain and hesitant in everything he did when he wasn’t in character, but he wasn’t that way that night. He was consumed by what he wanted, sort of empowered through lust and desire. After a few minutes of him trying to tug my shirt off one handedly while he tried to keep me against the wall, my own hesitation withered. A heartbeat later, I was taking off my shirt, unhooking my bra and dropping it to the ground.  He separated his chest from me as I leaned my upper body against the wall and he stared at my breasts with near reverence. “My God,” he sighed, his hand cupping one, his thumb brushing over my proud nipple.

When his mouth covered my nipple I moaned at the pressure and suction he used. His teeth were grazing and nipping at the peak, but he was sucking roughly to pull the pink flesh into his mouth. His pelvis kept pushing against me, his cock rubbing against my pussy through our clothes. I had never been so close to orgasm from frottage alone, but his devoted suckling and the pressure of him in all of the right places had my body cresting. I was humping back, still clothed, in my mind I was already ripping open his zipper so he could shove his dick inside me.

It was a massive flood of wants and needs, I didn’t even care if he made me cum while I still had my clothes on, I just wanted to cum. I don’t know if he sensed my closeness or if he was ready to do what he’d dreamed of doing, but I felt my feet touch the ground before I could climax. His fingers reached under my pants and pulled them down, calmly slipping them to the floor because he found a well of patience somewhere. I was still wearing a tiny cotton thong. Had I known what was going to happen, I would have worn something lacier, something that would have driven him wild, but he still seemed awed by my body anyway. Every action was done with admiration.

He kissed from my inner knee up my thigh, his hands pushing my legs against the wall until he reached my hips and shoved them back. My ass was pressed against the cold painted wall, but the feeling of the wall vanished when his nose nudged my pussy. I moaned slowly, tipping my hips at him.  I could feel my lower lips open, the way my panties stuck to me because of the wetness that seeped from my body.

His fingers slipped under the elastic and pulled my underwear down a few inches. He leaned toward me, his tongue touching the top of my thighs before it danced against my labia. I could feel my heartbeat in my sex, throbbing with the same strength as my desire. His tongue opened my body, moving in long languid strokes and against the entirety of my soaked crevice. I didn’t remember him pulling my panties the rest of the way down because his mouth felt so good.

He lifted my left leg and put my knee on his shoulder, gazing softly up at my face. “You are the most beautiful woman I’ve ever laid eyes upon.”

My breath was ragged with want and my head was flooded by his words, while he came back to my sex again. His powerful hands lifted me while his tongue gained entrance to my body, pushing into my very core. As he let me come back to the ground, his lips moved along my slippery folds until he took my clit in his mouth. He lavished me with attention, his lips and tongue focused at that one spot. I know I was moaning words of praise for him because he had a most talented mouth. His hand left my hip, the tips of his fingers making trails on my skin until he could feel my dripping wetness. His fingers felt around for my entrance, teasing the opening before he pushed two long, graceful digits into me.

I gasped loudly, a sound that morphed into a moan and a string of “yesses” that came in response to each time he shoved into my body. He could reach the end of me when he was inside with those fingers, and expertly found the perfect spot while he pushed toward the front of my body with each withdrawal.

I grabbed onto his shoulders because the one leg I had on the ground was shaking. When my climax began to become undeniable, he became more precise, it was like he’d been doing this to me for years, knowing exactly how to lap at my clit and fuck me with his fingers to a clashing orgasm. It hit hard, I shrieked a bit, I know I was loud, my voice crying out the pleasure I felt. At the end, I almost squealed when it became too much.

He let my shoulders slide down the wall while he let me fall into his lap. His fingers stayed inside me, pushing against my quaking pussy muscles while aftershocks continued long after my orgasm. My legs were around his waist while he kept slowly pumping in and out of my body.

That mouth, that amazing mouth, moved to mine, his tongue pushing between my lips, thick, soft and flavored with the taste of my fluids. My hands covered his face, engaging fully in the kiss, feeling the lips that had made me feel so good. I had another orgasm while we kissed and he fingered me. I held his hand still, not letting him remove his fingers, anchoring his wrist so his fingers were trapped in me. He gently rubbed and stroked while trapped there. “Thank you for allowing that,” he said when he dropped his forehead to my shoulder.

“Allowing it? You act like I’m being magnanimous. You are really good.”

He laughed softly and shyly, less confident than he had been when he was making me cum. “I’ll do that any time you want. Very literally, any time.”

“On your bike?”

“As long as you can balance on the handlebars.”

We were both giggling quietly between words. I moved away, his fingers sliding out from me. I was kneeling between his outstretched legs, my hands on his knees. “Can I stay with you tonight, or should I go?” he asked, looking at my hands.

“Are we done already?”

“If you want to be.”

I stared at his pants, or more specifically at the bulge in them. I had suspected that maybe he had problems with ED or something because of his insistence on being satisfied without expecting any type of reciprocity, but he obviously had no problem in that department. “Does that hurt?” I asked, pointing at the tent.

“No.”

“Are you lying?”

“It’s uncomfortable. I’ll be fine. I told you what I wanted.”

“Selfish jerk,” I teased, “what about what I want?"

I was on all fours, my hands moving up from his knees to his thighs. “You don’t have to do anything,” he said.

“You don’t want me to? I can stop if you want.”

“I just don’t expect anything. I wasn’t lying to get something from you.”

I pushed him back so he was reclining, his torso lifted while he leaned on his elbows. I rubbed him through his pants, watching his eyes roll up and flutter closed while he tried to stay cool and poised. When my fingers popped open his button, he stopped my hands one last time, “You don’t have to feel obligated.”

“Shut up,” I said sweetly.

I took his shirt off, my fingers scratching down his chest and over his nipples. I could see the anticipation in his eyes while I moved down his abs. I pulled the zipper down, seeing the way his cock pushed at his underwear while I pulled his pants down. When I grabbed his boxers and yanked them down, his dick sprung free, bobbing in front of me with the strength of a very powerful erection. He was sizable, more than what I had expected, and God, it was thick and gloriously tall as it stood before me. “No wonder you’re so shy,” I joked sarcastically, as faintly stroked his hard-on.

I wrapped my fingers around the base, squeezing a little tighter, my palm against his balls, and felt his thickness while I moved up to straddle his lap. His dick was jutting out between us, the base of it practically nestled between my folds. I’m sure he could feel the heat of my sex on him. I reached down to cradle his balls, rolling them gently between my fingers while I started to fantasize about the cock pistoning into me.

My hand encircled as much of his erection as I could, drawing up along the smooth, suede-like skin before stroking back down again. I wasn’t going fast, but I could see his stomach tightening with pleasure and hear the soft groans and heavy breaths. I looked down at the tip, blunt, purple and leaking a drops of fluid. Moving between his legs, I licked up the droplets with the tip of my tongue to taste his salty flavor. “God,” he groaned, looking close to the end already.

“Will you let me suck your cock?” I asked, watching the flash of reaction on his face. He didn’t answer, lifting his hips so my hands would keep moving. “You have a gorgeous cock. I want it in my mouth,” I insisted until he nodded quickly.

I opened my mouth, swallowing as much of him as I could. He was far too long and thick to take the whole way, but my hands conformed around the base. The first few times, I’d suck on that beautiful tip before I’d let it pop out of my mouth and then I’d surround him again. Every time he hit the soft back of my throat I thought he was going to explode.  I sucked my cheeks tight to surround his dick with as much sensual pleasure as I could. I started bobbing up and down the long length of him more quickly, and he grunted a warning but that just made me continue in earnest. I wanted to make him cum so badly after the pleasure he had just given me.

His head fell back a split second before I felt the first hot stream of cum spurt into my mouth. I saw his body tense with each pulse as his dick twitched, and I greedily swallowed every drop that came from him. I kept sliding my lips along him while I felt him begin to soften in my mouth. His fingers found my chin and lifted me away from him when he couldn’t take any more touches.

I moved onto the floor and lay next to him. I felt his arm move around me to bring me closer to him. “You good?” I asked him.

“I feel great.”

“Are we limited to certain activities? Oral sex only?”

“I think that’s up to you.”

“I’m not sure which lines you’re willing to cross and which lines you aren’t.”

“It wasn’t about crossing lines. I just thought—I thought that way you’d see I didn’t have any expectations.”

“What would you have done if I would have told you to fuck me?”

He seemed startled by my blunt question but said, after a beat, “What in the hell do you think I would have done?”

I rolled on my side and put my hand low on his abdomen, “I don’t know, that’s why I’m asking.”

“I would have—definitely.”

“Does that word make you uncomfortable? Fuck?”

“In general, no.  If I’m talking about you though—well—certainly don’t want to be disrespectful.“

“For future reference, dirty talk is a huge turn on.”

“Future reference? You said we weren’t going to make this a habit.”

“Well no, not a habit. But in case it happens again.”

“I guess it’s always best to be prepared. Just in case.”

“You have a fabulous cock, so I wouldn’t mind-“

“Jesus, Lisa,” he answered abruptly, covering himself with his hands.

“What? You do!”

He was so uncomfortable that it was completely endearing and he answered, “Well—you have an amazing body. I wouldn’t mind it if things like this happen again.”

“It’s so cute that you’re shy.”

“I’m not.”

“You totally are. A little. Yea. This is me though. You’ll have to get used to it.”

“I don’t want you to change. It’s just that—you’re different than what I’m used to. Not bad, just different. I’d absolutely like to get used to it.”

I started to rub more along his stomach, watching while he relaxed again, “You know, you destroyed a stereotype.”

“Which one is that?”

“English guys. I’ve always heard they’re horrible in the sack.”

“Because I trust you so much, I will confide in you that I was recruited by MI6 and sent here to annihilate that misconception by finding one American woman and demonstrating what I and my countrymen are capable of. The whole nation will owe you a debt of gratitude for your role in this.”

“There’s a horrible flaw in your plan.”

“Maybe, but if you give me some time, and you’re agreeable, I’ll try to remedy that.”

“I’m sure you will, but I mean I’m not able to tell anyone.”

“I’m doing my part, I’ll let the guys at MI6 figure out the rest,” he jested, while his eyes gazed over my body again.

“Occasionally, this could be okay. We can't let it get out of hand. This is safe. We trust each other, respect each other.”

His hand tightened on my thigh. His mind was already getting turned on again. “So I can stay with you tonight?”

“Yea, I mean—we’re good. That was fun. Why not, right?”

* * *

 

**# # # Present Day # # #**

**It had all seemed so simple and convenient. We were probably blinded by lust and attraction, and possibly the feelings we had for each other, even in those early days. I’ll always remember starting down that path, and once it started, the things that followed seemed inevitable. I’m not sure why we didn’t see it. One of us should have had the sense to stay away. I guess when something starts so simply, it’s easier to get pulled in. Things wouldn’t remain simple for long.**

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The connection deepens and their relationship crosses into work.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The present moment is bold. Memories/the past are plain text.
> 
> This is a multiple chapter story that features explicit content.
> 
> This story is entirely fictional and has been written for entertainment purposes only.

### 2 0 0 5 – 2 0 0 6 - The Second Season (continued) ###

A few minutes after our first sexual encounter, he looked like he felt really awkward. I got up from the floor, throwing on my shirt and panties while I started to talk about the music that was playing. I stepped into the bathroom, and when I came back, he wasn’t in the living room. He was always far too polite to run off without saying anything, so I knew he hadn’t gone far.  Sometimes I had the impression that he thought I was much more fragile than I am.

He was standing right outside the back door with a cigarette, wearing only his pants. I was really trying to prevent things from feeling uncomfortable, so I decided I had to address it head on, “You can go home if you want to. I won’t be offended. We’re trying to keep this as stress-free as possible, okay?”

“Of course.”

“Good. Honestly, if you want to go home, it’s okay,” I insisted.

“Perhaps you want me to go?”

“No, not at all. You can definitely stay. You’re just not obligated to hang around.”

He took a long, slow drag off his cigarette, looking up toward the night sky. While he breathed out the smoke he said, “I’m not using you.”

“We’re sort of using each other, aren’t we?”

He kicked some imaginary object with the tip of his toe, “No. This is just another aspect to our friendship. It’s important to me that you don’t feel taken advantage of.”

“You worry too much.”

“Probably.”

“But you should wear a shirt out here. If you get papped standing outside my door in the middle of the night, smoking without a shirt on, there’ll be hell to pay.”

I leaned on the wall next to him. “You’re right,” he said when he took another drag.

“You know what’s funny. I don’t like cigarettes, but they taste sort of good on you. I mean that I mind them less since I associate the smell with you.”

He looked at me with a timid smile. I thought he wanted to say something, but he enjoyed his cigarette a little while longer. “I know you want to avoid this becoming habitual. But if I’m going to stay—“

I turned, standing in front of him, moving my feet between his wide legged stance. I reached out with my finger, touching his skin below his belly button. “Come back inside.”

He nodded, quickly extinguishing his smoke in the bucket I left outside for my friends who smoked. I watched him come through the door, turning to lock the bolt. When he turned around, he bumped into me. “God, I’m so sorry, are you alright?” he asked, completely overreacting.

“I’m fine.”

“Are you sure?”

“Stop worrying. If you hurt me, if you cross a line, if you piss me off—you’ll know. You don’t have to be a mind reader with me.”

Before he could protest any more, I closed in.  My hands moved around his waist, feeling the man who was forbidden, but yet touching him was as natural as anything. I often touched him when we hugged almost every day, but I liked the sight and feeling of him shirtless in my kitchen. It was so different. I could still remember the way his voice sounded when he came and I could still taste him on my tongue. His hands hung by his sides while he looked at me for an answer. I could still see the timidity. I didn’t want the hesitation he had the last time, it felt like he spent more time asking permission than enjoying the act.

“What would you like to do?” I asked.

“Whatever you want to do.”

“You can do better than that.”

I took my shirt and panties off while I was still standing very close to him. My nipples touched his chest.

“I want—to tell you how beautiful you are yet again,” he said, nervously.

I surrounded him with my arms, sliding my fingers down into his pants to feel his ass.

“Alright,” I answered, “if that’s what you want, we can just talk.”

I kept breathing, my breasts pushing against his chest.

“That isn’t all I want to do.”

“Tell me what you want,” I insisted.

“I want to make lo—I want to have sex with you. I’d like to…actually have sex.”

I smiled and thought about teasing him for his innocence and shyness. I really wanted him to tell me he wanted me. I wanted him to say something completely X-rated. He could be so sensitive and easily hurt though, so I didn’t want to hurt his feelings. I started to think that this was a bad idea again. I wondered if someone like me could have a casual fling with someone like him. I knew he’d feel sad if turned him down, and I thought that maybe he’d stop being so uptight once he got used to me.

I took complete control, hoping that I could put him at ease. I took his hand, it always seemed so big next to mine, and brought him to my bedroom. It seemed to me that the easiest way to put him at ease was to avoid making him feel more uncomfortable. I turned off the overhead light and left on a lamp next to my bed.  That first time was good. It wasn’t amazing, but definitely good. I rolled a condom on him without asking for his preferences in the matter. He lay on his back in my bed, and I rode him. His hands stayed respectfully on my hips, thighs and waist. Once I could tell he was going to cum, I started flicking my clit because I wanted to finish at the same time. I really wanted us to cum together.

He stared at my hand between my legs. My body was at a ninety-degree angle from his, trying to keep things more about sex than intimacy. I wasn’t purposefully loud, but I moaned when things felt good. He was of a size that made it pretty easy to ride my way to the end with little help from my fingers. I moaned his name right when I started to cum, and I could tell he was right on the edge, too.

Once he started cumming, he stopped being so careful and started roughly thrusting beneath me until I came fully. His reaction made me think that he was probably really good at sex when he wasn’t so careful. He came suddenly and so hard. He almost sounded like he was in pain, that was how thoroughly and completely he released.

After he ditched the used condom, I invited him to sleep in my bed with me.

I slept pretty well, but I woke up even better. The sheer top that I’d put on to sleep in was pushed up around my neck and he held my breast in his hand. It wasn’t his hand that woke me though, it was his mouth.  I noticed immediately how forceful he was being. He was sucking hard on my nipple. I moaned my approval and put my hand at the back of his head. That definitely encouraged him. He was so rough there was a little twinge of pain, but it felt good, I was really enjoying what he was doing. I really loved that he wasn’t being careful and he didn’t seem to be worried about rejection.

I put my leg around him and gasped, “Keep going.”

As soon as I spoke, he got on top of me. His mouth kissed and licked my neck while he moved to my ear. “Does that mean yes?”

“God yes it means yes! Fuck me.”

In the dark, he wasn’t worried and shy. He grabbed the condoms from next to the bed and quickly put one on. He looked like he was shivering with anticipation. He lifted my hips and slid his cock inside me. I moaned while he pushed into me. This time he took me like he really wanted me. I like a man with desire, a man who isn’t afraid to embrace lust and go after what he wants. He started thrusting into me a few times, listening when I’d moan with delight. “Damn you’re big,” I sighed, “feels so good.”

He kept moving, pistoning into me with such force that I continued to gasp each time he was completely inside me.

“How do I feel?” I asked.

“Good. Tight. So fucking—so fucking good,” he stuttered each time he’d groan along with each thrust.  

I hooked my ankles behind his back, lifting my pelvis to him and feeling my body rebound each time he’d slam into me. I could feel the thick tip of his cock rubbing, bumping against my cervix each time. He was so long he’d hit the end of me, filling me completely. I couldn’t believe this more forceful and powerfully masculine side of him, taking me, pushing his body down each time so he’d make my clit throb.

“Fuck,” I yelled as I started to cum, “Fuck me harder. Don’t stop, don’t ever, ever stop.”

“Lisa, God, Lisa,” he started repeating my name with thoughtless devotion.

His mind was lost deep in me. He didn’t care about being polite, shy and proper; he only cared about fucking me. He grunted so loudly, pounding into me until he was finished, before he dropped down atop me. His face was sweaty, the roughness of his beard against my cheek and shoulder.  “I’m so sorry,” he mumbled, slinking down my body, moving his face down to my pussy.

“Why? Why are you sorry?”

“I couldn’t hold out any longer, I’m sorry. The talking—“

“Get back here. I didn’t need you to hold out any longer.”

“You’re satisfied?”

“You didn’t notice?”

“I was a little—caught up in a moment.”

I rolled over so I was lying on top of him. “I like this side of you. It’s fun.”

“Too bad you don’t want this to be a habitual thing.”

“I won’t put life or love on hold for a married guy. It’s not fair to ask or expect that. I know how that story turns out every time.”

“I’m not like that.”

“You’re married, so you’re like that even though I’m sure you don't think you are. This is the way things are. It’s okay, I don’t have a problem with it, but I know what’s going on. I’m fun for you when you’re stuck here. And you can be fun for me if I’m single.”

He was moping already, “Whatever you want.”

“Hugh—don’t ask me to put my life on hold for a person who is committed to someone else. That isn’t fair.”

“I know. I’m not asking that.”

“Good. I don’t want to fight. We just had great sex, so let’s bask in the afterglow for awhile before we deal with reality.”

“I never want to lose you. I think you might be my best friend on this continent.”

I smiled, put my hands on the bed next to his head and lifted my upper body away, “Even if we have to stop doing this, I will always be your friend.”

He reached for my ass while he looked at my breasts which were practically right in front of his face. The alarm on my phone lit up. He saw it and sighed, “Maybe we can do this again a few times before you’re unavailable again.”

“Yea—I’d like that.”

About a week later, I walked in to work to read the script for the next episode. There were a lot of people around, but Hugh came up and walked in stride with me. “Morning,” he said while people were near. He pulled me in to the hospital room on set and said, frantically, “I had nothing to do with this.”

“Oh no—they’re writing me off, aren’t they?”

“No! No, they aren’t. I’ll never let that happen. If you go, I go.”

“O—okay. Then what did you have nothing to do with.”

“You didn’t see the script?”

“I didn’t. What’s going on?”

We were summoned to join the others. We started the read and part way through, I realized what had him so flustered. After the read broke, I followed him out to his trailer. He was standing in front of it, smoking, and I said, “Why would I think you had anything to do with it?”

“You know that I have certain interests in you. Maybe you thought I suggested this as a chance to open up certain—avenues. I don’t know.”

“You think that I think you asked them to put something like that in so you could look at my butt and get a little feel? That’s a lot of work just to see my butt.”

“I wasn’t sure how you’d feel. Especially since—because of—you know.”

“You’re worried that I’d be uncomfortable because we had a couple of rounds of amazing sex last week?”

“You have quite a knack for summation.”

“I’m translating from British to American. And stop worrying. If you wanted to see my butt, wouldn’t it be easier to get me in a room, and hike up my skirt yourself?”

“I suppose,” he blushed, avoiding direct eye contact.

“Let’s not let it get uncomfortable. Do you think you can handle this without it being weird?”

“Of course I can.”

“You know what would help? You can come over tonight and we can rehearse.”

“If you want.”

“I want,” I said, standing directly in front of him. “Except we’ll fix the stuff the writers screwed up.”

“How do you mean?”

“Oh come on. Cuddy wants a baby and she’s lifting her skirt and waving her ass in House’s face and he gives her the shots and leaves? No, I don’t buy it. We both know how it would really go. He would be doing his little swab deal. She’d put a little extra wiggle in it. His hands would get more adventurous, she’d start leaning back to him. He’d get turned on. She’d already be turned on.”

“That’s how it’s supposed to go?”

“That’s how I think it should go. And then he rips that little pair of barely there panties away, or just moves them to the side, and slams his hard cock into her dripping wet pussy while she’s bent over the desk. He would drill her from behind, grabbing her hips and slamming into her body until she screams with a climax that takes over her body until she milks the cum from him, squeezing his dick in her body while he unloads.”

His mouth hung open before he scanned the area for any interlopers. “Do the writers know about your hidden talents?”

I laughed. “Come over and rehearse.”

“Yea, I could do that.”

“And come on, if there’s something you want to see, something you want to try or whatever, I hope you’d tell me. Worst case scenario is that I’d say no. I’m not the type to get offended and freeze a man out. Okay?”

“Yea, sure, definitely.”

“So you’ll be over.”

“You think I’m fool enough to turn down that offer? I will be there.”

We started walking back into the studio when my phone beeped. I was answering a text and he asked, “Who’s that?”

“A friend,” I answered while I was returning a text.

“A friend like I’m a friend or a different kind of friend.”

“You’re the only uptight English acting genius I consider a friend.”

I was joking, but I realized he was truly insecure when he said, “Do you have a lot of friendships like the one you have with me?”

I stopped, a little indignantly, “In what regard?”

“I was just curious. Forget it.”

“You mean do I sleep with my other friends?”

“Shh.”

“See, this is exactly what I was talking about. I don’t want this to get complicated. I’m texting a friend. A female friend. I don’t have sex with her. But this is exactly what I’m talking about. I will not put my life on hold while you have—“

“Stop,” he said softly, “I was just curious. Nothing’s complicated.”

“Are you sure?”

“Positive.”

**# # # PRESENT DAY # # #**

**Almost on cue, I hear him make a humble statement about how poor a performer he is as compared to the people in his band. He’s saying, with honest self-effacement, that he’s sorry that people have to listen to him after hearing one of the women sing.**

**There he is, that familiar, uncertain, modest man who seems to value himself so little. I can almost hear my voice in years past, telling him what a rare and wonderful talent he is. I almost want to jump on stage and tell him that he’s a fool for having even an ounce of doubt. I wish it was so simple.**

**I think of my promise to be his friend always, and his promise that he’d never let me leave the show, and it reminds me of the bad blood that surrounds us. I’d never dreamed that someone I’d be so close to, someone whom I’d love and trust, would become someone I could carry such negative feelings for.**

**I realize while I’m looking at him that if I still saw him regularly in person, I’d probably never be able to hold a grudge. He has a power over me, and I have one over him. I start to play with the ragged edges of my paper ticket, and I know that I’m going to approach him after the show. I need him to sign it. I suddenly need him to know that I’m sitting here. I need him to know that I braved the war zone so I could see him perform.**

**I won’t let anyone around him know who I am (he’ll know when he looks at me up close). I won’t hang around. I won’t talk to him about anything important, or share a drawn out personal moment, but I need him to look me in the eye. I need him to know I am not afraid. I might even need him to acknowledge my existence. I might be out of sight, and I might be out of his mind, but I exist. I am still very much alive.**


End file.
